


Meet Me In Antarctica

by taormina



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Flirting, Creamcakes, Ice Baths, Kissing, M/M, Massaging, Rubbing, Third Wheels, actually it's also gaz/how if you squint, do not try this at home, rob/mark if you squint, this was a struggle and a half, writer knows nothing about human biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie is introduced to the concept of ice baths. Gary is there for the “moral” “support”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Me In Antarctica

**Author's Note:**

> Story takes place during Progress Live.

He’d done some weird things on tour, both as Robbie Williams and as one-fifth of Take That, but this was pushing it.

He was going to have an _ice bath_. An. Actual. Ice. Bath.

At first, Robbie didn’t want to do it. It’d be too fucking uncomfortable, he thought, and he was half afraid that he’d get a stroke and that the others would have to do impromptu solo sets on tour for the rest of the summer. As much as he loved his mates, Robbie didn’t think a short DJ set or a performance of Love Won’t Wait would _quite_ top his jumping out of a screen. Not a lot of things would.

In other words, Robbie bailed. Inevitably this led to quite a few taunting comments from Howard, who called Robbie a “scaredy cat” (we’re paraphrasing here; Howard’s actual choice of words was more . . . illustrative.) Gary was more sympathetic, and more or less implied that if Robbie at least _tried_ taking an ice bath, he might consider replacing the ice baths with post-concert cuddling effective immediate. _Might_.

That was incentive enough.

So now, several weeks after Gary had told him about the latest Take That Tour Tradition, Robbie was stood in his underpants in some abandoned dressing room in the Stadium of Light, about to take an ice bath in an old tub. He wished he were somewhere else.

Robbie stared at the tub long and hard. He looked like he’d just eaten something sour. ‘I don’t think I can do it, Gaz.’

‘Don’t say that!’ said Gary, and he patted Robbie’s arse reassuringly. This is what Gary _always_ did when Robbie felt very nervous about something, so understandably Robbie felt “nervous about something” rather often. Rob wasn’t faking it this time, though. ‘Get it over quickly, is what _I’d_ say,’ Gary told him wisely. ‘The sooner you get in, the better.’ This didn’t help: Robbie was beginning to look absolutely horrified. ‘Just remember to breathe, Rob, and you should be all right. I’ll be here if you need me.’

Robbie suddenly remembered something. ‘When are _you_ taking your ice bath, Gaz?’

Gary  hesitated. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jogging pants; the same he put on after he’d removed the outfit he had worn for Eight Letters. He didn’t look like he’d already had his ice bath. ‘Already had mine.’

‘ _Have_ you?’ Robbie didn’t look convinced, but he wasn’t keen on pushing the topic for the time being. Gary was right, anyway: better to do it now than to keep postponing the bath until his mind was no longer into it. Besides, he _was_ beginning to feel a little sore; he’d just danced and flown and jumped through a two-hour concert, and having his body apparently drained of all the pain and toxins might actually do him some good.

He might also freeze to death, but _eh,_ what could possibly go wrong?

+++

Robbie took a deep breath and looked at Gary, who was nodding. He ignored the fact that Gary seemed slightly nervous. He slowly submerged himself into the water, bracing himself for the shock, and it

was

so

cold

His body went numb. Immediately.

His mind, blank.

He started breathing fast. Too fast. He couldn’t breathe. _It’s so hard to breathe._

He tried to remind himself that what he was putting himself was healthy. That it was part of this holy rite of passage that he must somehow get through. _Professional athletes do it all the time, so it’s harmless. It must be._

But Robbie wasn’t a professional athlete.

Grasping the sides of the bath until his knuckles turned white, he told himself over and over again that this would rinse out all the toxins, wash off all the dirt _—_ yet every single part of his body was screaming at him, telling him otherwise: this wasn’t natural, whatever this was. He should’ve been out on the streets of Sunderland by now, pissing off the journalists who thought he was too rude on tour last night. Talk to a fan or two if he could be arsed. Kiss Gary — maybe Mark if he’d had enough energy drinks.

But not this.

_This is not what he should be doing after what was essentially a two-hour workout._

He desperately wanted to pull himself out, but his fingers were too cold and his mind couldn’t keep up, and he didn’t even register that Gary’s hands were on his shoulders until a minute later.

Familiarity washed over Robbie, that blissful feeling of security and domesticity hitting him with the same force as the water, battling it out with the discomforts of the cold. He couldn’t be cold when Gary was there with him; Gary was warmth and safety and sex and a million other things mixed into one. He was _always_ there for Robbie . . . even when Rob was busy being a distant little shit with no regard for other people’s lives.

He couldn’t be cold. Couldn’t. Not with him.

‘Christ, you’re stiff,’ said Gary, and for a moment Robbie forgot where he was entirely.

‘W-what?’ Robbie’s teeth were clattering now. He tried to ignore it by shutting his eyes tightly and focusing on the things his other senses were picking up on: Gary’s hands, large and soft and dominant, doing something Rob’s thoughts couldn’t quite keep up with — soft kisses on his shoulder blades — the scent of aftershave and frostiness in the air.

No, not frostiness. Burning sand. He was on a beach. He was on a beach far, far away from this shithole, and Gary was shirtless and sweaty, working his hands down Robbie’s chest.

‘Your _shoulders_ , you dope,’ Gary said after a while. He sounded like he was smiling, but Robbie couldn’t see him; Gary was massaging his shoulders to ease the pressure and rub the cold away. When Gary rubbed a painful muscle that Robbie didn’t know was there, Robbie realized with a pang that Gary had been right as usual: he _was_ stiff. He wasn’t getting younger, and the dance routines and aerial acrobatics he had signed himself up for weren’t getting any easier. His body was taking one hell of a beating.

(Then again, all the shagging they’d done this week probably wasn’t helping matters, either.)

Gary’s hands were strong. So strong. He kneaded the tension in Robbie’s shoulders away, and Robbie felt himself calm down.

Feeling more relaxed, he tilted back his head and took it all in.

_Gary was **so** good with his hands_.

But then Robbie opened his eyes again, and he remembered.

_Cold_.

Pinpricks of pain and cold and panic and more pain shot through his body at the speed of light.

_He shouldn’t be here he shouldn’t be here he shouldn’t be here._

‘Y-you know w-w-what, Gaz, I-I’m l- _leavin_ ’. Y-you're fucking m-m- _mental_ ,’ Robbie somehow managed to croak out, despite knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to drag himself out of this goddamn bathtub even if he tried. He wanted to slap himself for thinking he was prepared for this. He wasn’t. He really, really wasn’t. It felt like he’d failed the next big step to Take That initiation.

Gary whispered something into his ear. Something filthy. An incentive, and a very considerable one at that.

Then there was warmth. Desire.

He was hot and cold at the same time, and it was simply too much to bear. _Too much_. His body started shaking and his teeth were clattering and Gary — oh — my  — G o d —Robbie had no idea what was going on anymore _—_ he was too damn numb _—_ he felt fingers all over _—_ so warm, so soft _—_ then two large hands cupping his face, and he lost touch with reality completely _— God, he's so cold and **he's** so hot._

Gary pressed his warm lips on Robbie’s, and Robbie felt himself melt. Just seconds before, he’d felt like a heavy block of concrete, dropped into the cold currents of the terrifying ocean; now, he felt himself becoming one with the water, floating and soaring, straining his neck to taste Gary just that little bit better.

Gary tasted like peppermint.

Like all their kisses, the kiss was gentle and perfect and _so_ good. Comforting, like a warm blanket or a hot chocolate on a stormy Sunday afternoon. Kissing Gary was always going to be like this, like coming home after a long day of hard work. It’s all he needed. _Then_. But then Gary’s stubble tickled Robbie’s lips and his cheek and his neck, and it was like his body was being charged with electricity— intense jolts of desire pushing him to the edge too hard, too fast. He was beginning to need more than just kisses to keep him sane now.

Gary kissed the tattoo just below Robbie’s ear, and he could no longer stop shaking.

His entire body was tingling.

Because of the cold.

No . . . because of _him_.

Gary whispered something reassuring into his ear, and he no longer knew.

His head was becoming dizzy, and repressed memories of days spent drinking and popping pills came crashing back to him. He’d promised himself that he’d never feel like that again, so out of control that he took every risk that he was offered. This felt too familiar, and suddenly all he wanted was air. Get his breathing back to normal. Breathe in the warm, humid air of the deserted hallway outside that door. Get out. Leave now. Breathe in the smell of Gary’s aftershave.

_Gary_. He wanted to pull Gary in. See his wet T-shirt stick to that _perfect_ torso.

They kissed again, and all was well.

Robbie didn’t want the kiss to end. Not ever. When it _did_ seconds or minutes later, Gary offered him his outstretched hand. Robbie didn’t understand the gesture until he remembered he’d just taken an ice bath. _He’d just taken an ice bath._ All his trepidation seemed silly now that he’d grown used to the discomfort, and it was only a moment later that Robbie spotted the water stains on Gary’s white shirt, dying the fabric transparent all over his body.

Robbie must’ve grasped Gary’s T-shirt without noticing it, and his cheeks flushed at the thought. Only Gary could make him _that_ desperate. The white fabric clung to Gary’s chest, and Robbie thought he could see Gary’s chest hair.

The water was no longer cold.

‘Five minutes’re up, Rob,’ said Gary. ‘You okay?’

Robbie nodded wordlessly and accepted Gary’s hand. He more or less managed to get out of the bath in one piece even though his legs felt like frozen yoghurt, and he started shaking immediately. The cool air inside the room felt too sharp against his skin. He was too naked, too bare. The memory of their kiss was fast being replaced by the overwhelming thought that he needed  to warm up **now** , and soon the cold was the only thing he could think about.

Gary offered him a large towel, but he was too much of a shivering wreck to do anything. He shook his head.

‘Hang on, Rob,’ said Gary in mock irritation (Gary was a very bad actor), ‘You want _me_ to do it, is that what you’re saying? Typical, that.’

‘P-p-pretty much, yeah. D’you m-mind?’ said Robbie shyly, oblivious to the fact that Gary suddenly looked very pleased indeed. He rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm himself up, which didn’t help.

‘Not at all, Rob,’ said Gary, a dark twinkle in his eyes. Gary started drying Robbie off like it was the most natural thing in the world – starting with his hair, his chest, and moving on to his arms – and Robbie closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the cold.

The effects Gary had on Robbie were miraculous.

The towel was soft and smelled of roses. It reminded Robbie of the things that he so loved to indulge in on tour: pleasuring himself after a long day of gigging, the image of Gary’s arse in those grey trousers still etched onto his mind’s eye; those long, hot showers at luxury hotels . . . _They’re even better when Gary is there with him, his arse and his back pressed hard against the shower cubicle . . ._

Gary moved quickly, _too_ quickly, and Robbie inhaled sharply when Gary removed his wet underpants and brushed the towel against his cock with just the right amount of pressure.

This is what Robbie had been waiting for all night.

‘Feeling warmer yet, or what?’ Gary said cheekily, and Robbie replied with an appreciative moan. He loved it when Gary teased him, especially after a long evening of feeling horny on stage and not being able to do anything about it. It was as though a page had been turned and his body was being rewritten, every limb and muscle being brought back to life with a fresh supply of blood and oxygen. Eventually the feeling in his arms and his hands and his fingers returned, and he pulled Gary closer, his cool fingers tracing Gary’s arms up and down.

Gary didn’t shrink back from the cold; he only pressed the towel against Rob’s body more firmly, the fabric absorbing the drops of water that ran down the curve of Robbie’s back beautifully.

‘You enjoyed it, the ice bath?’ Gary asked even though he could already guess the answer. He started placing soft kisses on the tattoo on Robbie’s chest, letter for letter, sending heat waves down Robbie’s body. Robbie didn’t think he could ever grow tired of that feeling. Gary’s lips were amazing.

He wished Gary would kiss him somewhere else, too, and it was almost like the ice bath had never happened. 

‘Fucking hated it, Gaz.’

‘It was quite interesting seeing you like that, to be honest with you, Rob,’ said Gary darkly. Another kiss, lower this time.

Robbie frowned. He didn’t understand why seeing someone take an ice bath would be “interesting”, but then again Gary had always liked seeing him squirm, and Robbie always let him.  Something about letting his guard down for Gary was a massive turn-on. ‘ _Interesting_? Me prick nearly fell _off_ , Gaz,’ he said dramatically. ‘I nearly _died_!’

‘Soz, Rob,’ said Gary apologetically, and he meant it. Robbie thought he could feel the tip of Gary’s tongue move down his chest. ‘Would involve an awful lot of paperwork, you not being able to perform,’ Gary added cheekily.

Robbie rolled his eyes. Gary was ever the romantic. ‘Gee, _thanks_ , boss.’

‘Hm.’ Very unexpectedly, Gary rubbed his lover’s cock through the fabric of the towel hard. Robbie moaned and said something so dirty that it made Gary’s ears grow hot. He had always been the most vocal of the two.

Intuitively, Robbie pressed his hips forward, his body needing instant relief. He needed more, and he needed it now. He wished this white, fabric barrier didn’t exist between them and that he could rub his cock against Gary’s stomach.

Gary added, ‘Don’t understand what you’re so worried about though, mate; it’s still there, your cock.’ He squeezed Robbie’s cock gently, and his eyes started twinkling mischievously. They always did when he’d just come up with something equally ridiculous and arousing. ‘You know what, we could get you one of those lil’ cock warmers.’

‘I know somethin’ else I’d rather put me prick in,’ Robbie said quietly, a wide grin on his face. Gary turned scarlet.

‘ _Christ_ , Rob.’

A very flustered Gary tossed the towel on the floor and grabbed a white bathrobe from a hook on the wall. He handed Robbie the bathrobe – not without glancing at his mate’s manhood one more time – and Robbie put it on slowly.  He was hoping he’d get to take it off again later.

Robbie said, ‘So, erm, Gaz? How ‘bout, erm, we . . . do that thing we usually do?’

Robbie could still feel the softness on Gary’s lips on his skin.

Gary looked puzzled, genuinely so. _We_ know that Robbie was referring to a good old shag-session, but for some reason Gary’s brain hadn’t made that connection. Usually after an ice bath, Gary liked to crawl into bed in his hotel room and watch telly with a large cup of mint tea in one hand and a whole wheat cookie in the other. Maybe _two_ cookies if he felt like rewarding himself for hitting a certain high note that night, but never more than two.

Gary wasn’t really sure whether he and Rob were on the same page— he hadn’t been on the road with Rob long enough to know what he was into. Gary said, ‘D’you mean . . . ’

The door of the dressing room squeaked open, and Howard walked in half-naked, no doubt about to have an ice bath himself.

Robbie’s heart leapt, and he cursed himself for not having been forward with Gary enough; he was hoping to have a moment with him alone. The fact that Gary seemed momentarily distracted by Howard’s _fantastic_ torso (Robbie’s words, not ours) wasn’t helping, either.

‘Hiya,’ said Howard casually. He seemed oddly confident walking around in just a pair of black boxers like that, and Robbie unconsciously tied the fabric belt of his bathrobe a little tighter.  ‘Just ‘aving me ice bath. Nice bathrobe, Rob.’ He stopped in his tracks when he saw Gary’s wet shirt. ‘How’d you get your shirt so wet, Gary?’

Gary looked at his chest, then at Robbie, then at Howard. ‘It . . . got wet.’

He didn’t feel like telling Howard that Robbie had almost pulled him into the ice bath.

Howard shrugged and set to work. Thankfully, he didn’t feel like asking more questions. For _now_.

‘ _Anyway_ ,’ said Robbie while Howard drained the water from _his_ bath, desperate to continue the conversation that he and Gary were trying to have before Howard sauntered in: ‘How — about — we . . .’

It wasn’t long into Robbie’s new, exciting adventure with Take That that Rob found out that the boys didn’t keep much hidden from each other. Everyone knew everything about everyone. _Almost_ everything, that is: no-one knew that he and Gary were sleeping with each other, and he wasn’t keen on Howard finding out _now._ Or ever, really; right now, he was perfectly content on their relationship being this carefully guarded secret, the _one_ thing that he could keep away from prying journalists, fans and touring staff. Gary was his safety blanket, his lighthouse in the dark.

Consequently, he mouthed the next word. It started with an “f”.

Gary scratched the back of his head. He was clueless, bless him. ‘Duck? Pluck?’

Robbie rolled his eyes and mouthed the word again, this time with added gestures.

‘Sound . . .  truck?’ said Gary. ‘I really have no idea what you’re going on about, mate.’

Howard noisily threw a bunch of fresh ice packs into the bath. Either he had no idea what Rob and Gary (but mostly Rob) were going on about or he was doing a very good job pretending. Whatever the reason, Robbie was thanking his lucky stars for it.

‘Flipping ‘eck,’ said Robbie impatiently. Being subtle about it was clearly not helping. He’d have to try something else, couple it with something that they both loved doing as much as shagging each other senseless. ‘I meant, write s o n g s — t o g e t h e r. At the _hotel_.’ He mouthed “in bed”, and that seemed to do the trick.

Finally, Ivor Novello Award Winner Gary Barlow seemed to get it.

‘ _Oh_! Write _songs_. _I_ see! But not _now_ , mate, you need to warm up _gradually_ , you do,’ Gary added, referring to the aftereffects of the ice bath. He winked in a way that looked more comical than seductive. ‘Let’s not strain those muscles just yet, eh?’

Howard looked up from what he was doing. Unbeknownst to him, he had accidentally put in a few ice packs too many while eavesdropping. ‘What does _that_ ‘ave to do with writing songs?’

Gary and Robbie looked at each other.

‘Me . . . vocal chords,’ said Robbie flatly. ‘They need warmin’ up.’

‘ _That’s_ right.’ Gary nodded in agreement. ‘We, erm, like . . . singin’ songs and making ‘em up as we go in the studio, us two.’

Howard frowned. That’s not how Take That wrote songs at all – usually they wrote around a melody or a beat that one of them, usually Mark or Gary, had come up with or brought with them – but he couldn’t be arsed to get into an argument about the technicalities of writing right now. ‘At the _hotel_.’

Gary’s eyes shifted to Robbie, who shrugged. ‘. . . yes.’

Howard seemed to make up his mind about something. ‘D’you know what, just fuck off and let me have me ice bath.’

Robbie and Gary did so, and it wasn’t until they were well out of earshot Robbie finally presented his plans.

He was going to take another ice bath, and this time Gary was going to join him. Properly.

**Author's Note:**

> I really struggled with this story, but I still cannot quite pinpoint why. Any tips/points of criqique/etc. are more than welcome.


End file.
